Think Fast
by Dante The Kitsune
Summary: Ruby Rose is a streetwise, prolific, and prodigious traceuse. In other words: she's a veritable parkour badass. So, in light of her being all that (and a bag of chips) how would one expect her to react when she is approached by the freezing hot daughter of the enemy of all in Vale who practice the forbidden art of parkour? Not by adding her to the group, of course.


Chapter One **Fast Twitch**

_**Ruby Rose**_

_Run hard, no hesitation_

_until you reach your destination_

_watch for cops, think fast_

_never let the moment pass_

I recite the mantra in my head as I pull on tattered jeans and a black t-shirt, mentally preparing myself for the day. I pull on my favorite red hoodie – the one with the words: **Live fast,** **run hard **in bold cursive on the back - and shove some cash into my pockets on my way out of my bedroom.

Out in the hallway, I see the door to Yang's room is open and her girlfriend Blake is leaning against the doorway, her black hair wild and messy, holding one of their bedsheets around herself with one hand and scratching her shoulder with the other. Her bright amber eyes focus on me and she gives me a tired smile.

"Morning Ruby." I smile back.

"Mornin' Blake!" She chuckles and points with the hand not holding the sheet toward the kitchen.

"Yang's already up, I think she's making breakfast." I nod.

"Okay, thanks Blake." She nods and yawns. I pause at the end of the hallway, unable to resist. "Nice bedhead by the way." She growls playfully at me and attempts to tame the rat's nest with one hand.

"You're lucky I'm tired, Squirt, otherwise I'd eat you alive." I laugh at that.

"_Suuure_ you would. You know Yang would make you regurgitate me immediately." She snorts.

"You'd be famous. The world's chirpiest hairball." I giggle at the thought. It's funny considering she's part cat.

"I'll bet the inside of your stomach smells like fish. Just like your breath." She smirks.

"Keep talking and you're gonna find out." I turn to leave and call over my shoulder.

"I doubt it. Just face it, Blake, you've been _domesticated_." I can almost hear her rolling her eyes at me as I step into the kitchen, finding Yang standing at the stove cooking eggs and bacon.

She glances over her shoulder at me and smiles.

"Mornin' Squirt!" I sigh dramatically.

"I'm not _that _much younger than you guys, yet you've called me that since I was four!" She chuckles and shrugs.

"Sorry, but you're just so short we can't resist." Despite her joking tone and easy smile, I note the tightness in her posture and edge closer.

"What's wrong, Yang?" She flinches just a bit, but tries to cover it with a smile.

"Nothing's wrong. What makes you think something is wrong?" I raise an eyebrow and point to the pan.

"You're pouring orange juice in the eggs." She looks down and yelps.

"Crap!" She dumps the egg/bacon/juice concoction down the sink with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. She sits heavily in one of the old wooden chairs around the table and looks up at me. "Sorry, Rubes, just got a lot on my mind at the moment." I sit down with her and give her my 'I'm listening' face. Widening my eyes and raising my eyebrows, lips pressed closed. She laughs.

"Well, I've been thinking about. . .about. . ." She glances towards the hallway and lowers her voice almost to the point of inaudibility. "Asking Blake to move in with us." I stare at her, my jaw hanging open like an idiot. She shifts a bit in her seat. "What do you think?"

A slow grin spreads across my face and I laugh.

"Seriously? _That's _what you're worried about? Of _course _you should!" She gestures for me to lower my voice and glances at the hallway again.

"You think so? I mean, I'd love for her to live with us, but I don't want to inconvenience her or-" I hold up a finger for silence.

"Why don't we just ask her? What do _you _think, Blake?" She shrugs as she stands at the open fridge, having come in, all unintentionally ninja-like, not too long ago. Yang cringes, realizing what happened.

"I think she'd love to live with you guys, if Yang wasn't too much of a chicken to ask." She's cleaned up and gotten somewhat dressed in shorts and a black tank top, her hair combed as neatly as she was currently able to get it.

Her cat ears twitch in amusement and Yang sighs.

"I just don't want to-"

"Inconvenience me, got it." Blake interrupts. "But _I'm _the one who decides what's convenient for me, not you, _capisce?_" Yang flushes with embarrassment.

"Yeah, okay. Sorry." Blake walks over and pecks her on the lips.

"Good." I make gagging noises and fake retching.

"Guh-_ross!_" I cry. "Get a room, you two." Blake shrugs, a devious smirk on her face.

"We have one, and we made good use of it last night." I close my eyes and clap my hands over my ears, making loud noises to drown her out. When I'm certain she's done, I stop and fold my arms.

"I don't need details, nor do I _want _them. So kindly keep them to yourself." Blake chuckles and taps Yang's arm.

"So, breakfast round two?" Yang laughs sheepishly.

"Sounds good. Ruby?" I shift uncomfortably.

"Erm, actually, I was going to just pick up something on the way to the University." Blake raises her eyebrows.

"At 7:15? Don't your classes start at 8:00?" I look down.

"Yes." Blake's eyes widen and she shoots a glance at Yang as she realizes where this is going.

"Ruby." I reluctantly look at Yang, my stomach dropping at her serious expression. _Not this again. _I think, sinking down in my chair.

"Yang, I'm just-"

"Where exactly are you going?" I sigh heavily and mumble.

"To hang out with some friends." Yang stares at me.

"Are they your _friends_, friends?" I don't speak. She leans forward and grips my hands. "Ruby _please_, stop hanging around them, you'll only get into trouble!" The atmosphere is suddenly heavy and Blake turns and retreats to their bedroom, giving us some space.

I refuse to look at Yang.

"I can't abandon my friends." Yang squeezes my hands.

"You can if they're a gang of kids who're only going to get you arrested or killed." Heat flashes in my cheeks and I glare defiantly at her.

"We're not a gang! We're a _collective_." Yang groans and releases my hands, rubbing her face.

"So you've told me. 'The Collective of Alienated Traceurs*****', aka The CATS." The tone in which she says it makes it clear just how much she approves of our group.

"It's just a bit of fun!" I protest, my voice rising.

"It's _illegal!_" Yang shoots back, standing up and walking to the sink, where she braces her hands like she's going to be sick just thinking about it.

"If you'd just give them a chance-"

"I want to, Ruby. I really do." She sounds tired and sad. "But you know who doesn't? The _police_. I can't protect you when you're out running around like that!" I sit silently as I always do at this part in the conversation because I know she's right.

". . .I'm sorry, Yang. But they're the only ones outside of you and Blake who understand me, and I don't exactly get to see you all that often." She lets her shoulders slump and replies quietly.

"I know. And I wish I could always be here for you, but the fact is, there's nothing I can do. And that scares me." I stand and pull my hood up, turning away. I wipe away tears and try to keep my voice level.

"Yeah. I know. I just wish. . ." I don't know how to finish that, so I let it hang and head for the door. I take two steps and Yang hug me tightly from behind, leaning her head on mine. I turn in her embrace and hug her back with both arms.

"Be-" Her voice cracks and she sniffles. "Be safe, okay?" I nod against her chest and she ruffles my hair. "Go get 'em Squirt." I smile and turn to go.

"Bye." I say. Blake smiles sadly back at me and waves from the table.

"See you later." I close the door behind me and lean against it for a long moment before pushing off and pulling out my iPod. I plug in my earbuds and turn on _No Plan B _by Manafest, pulling on a black beanie and zipping my earbud cord inside my jacket.

Time for a run.

* * *

_**Weiss Schnee**_

_Father is rambling again, _I think with a sigh, _It's all he does lately, I wonder how mother stands it. _I push my stone cold eggs benedict around on my plate, waiting for him to take me to my new school. _I can't wait, _I think sarcastically, _I'm about as eager as_ _a turkey on Thanksgiving._

"-and then those hooligans had the nerve to. . .to _deface_ my squad car! It took _hours _to clean!" My mother nods sympathetically, though I suspect she's about as tired of it as I am, if not more so.

"That sounds absolutely horrendous, sweetheart, but isn't it about time for Princess to go to school?" I grimace at my appalling nickname and push my plate away.

"If we don't go now, I'll be late for my first day." I offer, eager to cut be away from his whining about the recent boldness of the parkourists in the area. The hard lines of his face soften with pride and he smiles a little.

"Of course. Listen to me, going on about ruffians over breakfast when Weiss is about to embark on a much more important mission than the one I have to deal with." It takes monumental effort not to roll my eyes.

"Your first public school, honey," Mother says, as though I've forgotten. I haven't. _Either way, it's a _university_, mother. Not just a school. You know, a college? Or did you not go?_ She didn't. "Are you excited?" _That depends. Are death row prisoners excited for the chair? Do birds long for cages? _I wish profusely that I could voice these answers, but sarcasm is punishable by death in this house. Well, okay, not literally, but a fate worse than death surely awaits one who mouths off to the chief of police or his wife.

"Yes." I answer simply. The lie scorches my tongue like a mouthful of hot black coffee. Tastes just as bad, too.

My parents either do not pick up on my lack of enthusiasm, or simply do not care. It's probably the second one, seeing as I'm making it as obvious as I can without seeming ungrateful.

By the time we get in the car, I'm practically stewing in my own anger and I put on my headphones so I don't have to answer questions or make small talk with my father.

I stare out the window at the dull, gray buildings that flash past, and I sigh. I don't know what urges me to look up, but I do and what I see astounds me.

There's a girl running across a rooftop parallel with our car.

I rub my eyes and look again. She's still there. I glance at Father, but he hasn't noticed. I take in the girl silently, watching the smooth movements of her body as she runs, sliding, vaulting, leaping, and flipping over and under all obstacles in her path.

_She's wearing a bright red hoodie with several black words sewn onto the back, a black hat, jeans, and sneakers,_ I immediately begin to analyze her in the back of my mind. _Long strides, she's obviously comfortable with her ability, confident even. Her moves are well polished and she doesn't seem to be slowing down. She-_

I stop and my brow furrows. We should have passed her by now, but she's still there. She seems to be keeping pace with our car. _So she's extremely fast, reasonably confident, and definitely competent. Good luck catching her. _I snort and out of the corner of my eye, I see Father turn to look at me. I take off my headphones and look at him as he starts to speak.

"Sorry?"

"What's funny?" I glance up at the rooftop only to find the traceuse gone.

"Nothing," I say quietly. "Nothing at all."

* * *

_**Ruby Rose**_

Ugh. I really hate this country sometimes. Like the times when, oh I don't know, they outlaw your favorite sport and make sure you can't have fun past the age of ten.

The Edict of Outlawing Extraneous Activity.

Or in Spazz's words, the Buzzkill Laws. Back when I was about thirteen, about five years ago actually, the Vytal government basically said:

'Hey. If you're over the age of ten, you can't have any fun that we don't deem appropriate or educational. That means no skateboarding, no hanging out past 11:00 pm, and no parkour.' Of course the BLs include a helluva lot more stuff than that, but that's the stuff I miss the most, seeing as it was all I ever really did. If you were wondering, which I doubt you were, my favorite sport happens to be parkour.

I've been into parkour most of my life, it's kind of in my blood. My dad used to be a traceur, and my mom was a traceuse, up until she died. From the time I could sit up to the time I could crawl, I'd been watching either videos of parkour, or my mom's step-by-step demonstrations of how to do all things free running.

By the time I could walk and talk, my mom was taking me to parkour gyms and parks, helping me through the motions and developing my muscle memory. I loved every minute of it.

When I was seven, I could already do most of the things my mother could do, and even some things she could not. It was about then that I got into skateboarding. I loved it almost as much as parkour and I was pretty damn good at it, if I do say so myself. Between skateboarding and parkour, you can bet I was a tough little thing.

In fact, when I wasn't in school, I was skateboarding or practicing my moves so that one day I could go free running with my mama.

I never got the chance.

On my eleventh birthday, my mother came home pale, her face drawn and anguished. She didn't say anything, but later she was back to her normal happy and energetic self. It wasn't until three days later that I learned the truth.

She sat me down on the couch and looked me in the eyes, her own normally playful silver eyes serious.

"Ruby," She said. "Baby, I know this is going to be hard to hear but. . ,I-I'm not going to be around much longer, so I'm going to send you to live with your father."

I objected. Explosively.

"What! I can't go live with that man!" She'd given me a fierce glare then, and I was silent once more.

"You can and you _will._ Don't talk about your father that way." I sulked and stared down at my lap.

"I still don't want to, I mean, how can I live with someone who doesn't even love me?" She'd taken my hands in hers and looked deep into my eyes, pride and sadness burning deep in her silver irises.

"Your father loves you, Ruby. Very much. The circumstances were just. . .difficult." I wasn't until I arrived at my father's house that I understood what she meant.

_*** The proper term for a female practitioner of parkour is traceuse, and traceur is the male form.**_

**So yeah, I read Demeter Fenir's story 'Free Runner' where Ruby is a traceuse, and a KH story where Roxas is a traceur (I can't remember the author), and I thought to myself: Why the fuck shouldn't _I _make a parkour story? Especially since the only way to get rid of this block is to write and clear my mind of other ideas. I don't even know if I'll even post this, but whatever.**

**PS: I named the chapter after the type of muscle that determines movement speed (or whatever the fuck my 6th grade gym teacher said ^^;).**


End file.
